


By the Light of Dawn

by Maesonry



Series: Daybreaker [1]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, F/F, F/M, Horror, M/M, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-05-23 07:56:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14930264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maesonry/pseuds/Maesonry
Summary: The Clown, with his rattling, wheezing laugh, that painted grin. He stared at you with malice, and his eyes promised a slow and tortured death. The Entity would not save you. So, you called for the only person that could.Reader/Various Killers





	1. Memento Mori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introduction chapter. Each chapter after this will focus on a specific Killer coming to help you, set in their specific map.

_Close_ , the shiver down your spine said, very close. You grit your teeth and glanced over your shoulder, just for a moment, and caught sight of a flash of circus red and a grimly grinning painted smile. Your gaze snapped back ahead as you frowned, pushing yourself to run faster. Your shoes slammed against the concrete, and your lungs felt like they would crack and splinter at any moment. And yet, the Clown still drew ever closer. You could hear him right behind you, faster despite everything against him, his wheezing laughter like a smothering smoke. You fought the urge to look behind yourself again, and instead, focused on the hook. You could feel your teammate’s struggles dying off, their strength fading, trying to hold off the hungry limbs of the Entity but fighting a losing battle by the second. It was now or never. You just needed a little more time, something...

There, to the left! A pallet! Nestled beside some cover, but the sight was unmistakeable. You inhaled sharply, then, with an extra burst of speed, ran through the gap. A terrible wheeze from behind you, and you spun on your heel, grabbing the corner of the pallet and slamming it down with all of your might. The Clown choked on air, and you spun again, running the rest of the way, leaving your pursuer to destroy the pallet– buying you the extra time you needed. Precious seconds, in a realm where seconds were everything.

“I’m here!” You shouted, watching as your teammate’s eyes flickered over to you, and then you stretched your arms out and up, standing on the tips of your toes as you lifted up. The claws of the Entity disappeared, scuttling away, and you gave a hearty grunt as you finally unhooked your friend, nearly dropping them onto the ground. They stumbled, grasping their bleeding side, but their eyes went wide as they looked over your shoulder and they opened their mouth to exclaim. You didn’t let them.

“Go!” You commanded, shoving them away, turning and raising your arm just in time to block the hit aimed for them. The piercing, sharp sense of pain flooded you, the heavy slash slicing across your torso. You screamed as loud as you could– to let your team know where to run from, to give them a chance– and then you screamed a second time, in pain, collapsing to the ground in a heap of red. Feebly, you held your hands to your chest, the blood gushing out despite the hands you pressed against the wounds. A rush of lightheadedness, at the blood loss, but you gasped and rolled to your stomach. 

Laughter, as the Clown admired his work, the sound ending in another hacking cough. He peered at you, and then took a moment to leer, reaching out to pick you up. Suddenly, a noise, the sound of a distant explosion. The Clown frowned and huffed, standing back up to his full height as his head snapped over to the sound. He gave you one last glance, before he stomped away, leaving you alone in the dirt, in a pool of your own blood. You wheezed feebly, and began to slowly pull yourself across the ground, a gruesome trail of blood and gore following you. You just had to get away, somewhere away from the Clown, somewhere...

Footsteps. A heartbeat. You felt your eyes widen, and you forced yourself to roll over, into a patch of taller grass. The movement made you whimper, and you curled in on yourself, desperate to stop your groans of pain but still frantically trying to see what was happening.

You wished you hadn’t.

There, your teammate. The very same one you’d saved earlier. You gaped briefly, struggling to wonder why they hadn’t tried to run away, to go get someone else’s help. But, as the Clown threw your friend to the ground, you caught sight of a familiar finger, tied to a key ring. Two familiar fingers, actually. You twitched as if you could try and run away; there was no one left. 

“Run,” You mouthed, watching with wide eyes as your teammate rose to their knees. They didn’t run. They didn’t even stand a chance. The Clown stabbed his blade deep into their shoulder, sending them sprawling across the ground. You silently pleaded a ‘no’, but it was useless. The Clown rose his boot up, and stomped savagely on their head. You could hear the sick cracks from here. And yet, your friend still tried to crawl away. You closed your eyes, but couldn’t stop the sounds, the subdued whimpers that ended with only final slam. In the silence, you reopened your eyes, thinking it was over. But instead, you watched the Clown as he severed the finger of your teammate, and then placed the digit in his mouth, sucking on it and smiling.

It was your own fault, this time, for failing to stifle your sob. You couldn’t help it, and so, the Clown turned to you, his smile growing larger. You keened, the warbling cry of the damned, a futile attempt by yourself to try and crawl away, the dirt caking your wounds. The Killer laughed and shook, walking over to you, his eyes shining with unrestrained glee. You kicked out and managed a single, terrified scream, as the Clown grabbed your leg and began to drag you towards the dead and desiccated body of your former teammate. He released you unceremoniously, and smiled even wider. He wasn’t just going to kill you quickly: he was going to take his time.

Your eyes snapped over to your friend’s corpse, landing on the blade still in his shoulder. As the Clown prepared with the utmost dark joy, you reached over, grabbing the knife and wiggling it free with a heave. The Clown turned around, and leaned down, towards you, his grimy hands going for your right arm. He yanked, hard, raising you off the ground, as he twisted to try and dislocate your shoulder and unsocket the arm. You screamed again, but, with the knife in your left hand, swung hard. There was a brief whiz, before the knife embedded itself in the Killer’s upper arm. 

The Clown screamed, dropping you, and through some miracle of adrenaline and force of will, you were up. You weren’t fine– in fact, you felt blood spilling from your mouth, and you couldn’t move your right arm anymore– but you were up. That was important. You didn’t even pretend to look at the Clown as you bolted away. 

You had one chance. It wasn’t even a chance, actually, it was more of a hope, a hope that burnt bright and could die just as quickly. You didn’t know if it would work. But, you had no other choice...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate fighting against the Clown, mostly because I hate his Mori. Don’t touch me.


	2. The Shape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael Myers doesn’t like it when others play with his food
> 
>  
> 
> [ Tell me, have you ever seen the Boogeyman before?](https://youtu.be/EmyWm_RZJOU)

A crisp, almost empty autumn wind blew past you as you ran, smelling of dead leaves and nothing of the despairing horror that gripped you. The lights of Lampkin Lane illuminated your escape, and you found yourself limping down the streets, your eyes frantic as you looked for some place to hide. There had to be somewhere that the Clown wouldn’t look, or at least somewhere you could try and hide, be safe. Your eyes darted around, past boarded up doors, and through the veil of pain, you stopped on the Myers’ house. 

You’d been there before. You knew the way around the house, and you knew every secret spot in it– your pained grimace twitched into a smile for a moment at the memories, only to drop again, as you groaned briefly. The Myers’ house. Michael’s house. You’d be safe there, you had to be. At least, that’s what you told yourself as you hurried up the lawn, fear in your eyes and your heart in your throat.

“Michael. Michael– please...”

You barely made it through the doorway of the house, stumbling on the frame, and then you collapsed against the wall, leaving a smear of red across it as you slowly slid to the ground. A cough and a partial cry left your lips, as you held your wounds and tried to silence yourself. You wanted to stop, you wanted to get out, and most of all, you didn’t want to die like this. Certainly you didn’t want to die in this house. Not because you were afraid, but because you knew that Michael would have to find your body then– he’d think you were playing some game at first, and he’d hide in the doorway, only to realize what had happened, and that he was too late, and– 

“Michael,” You whispered, then trying to steel yourself. You looked around the house, making sure that everything was still as it was, and that you had a chance. You did. But you couldn’t hide on the bottom floor, certainly not in the basement, and that only left the stairs to the second floor. You hissed as you held your side, but inhaled shakily nonetheless, looking up at the staircase and deciding that you’d do it. It wasn’t like you had a choice after all. Slowly, and carefully, you rose up from the wall, stopping halfway and beginning to walk to the stairs, leaning heavily on the wall with a faint trail of red following behind yourself. At the first step, you felt pain. The second, agony. But, you forced yourself to just keep going. You whispered Michael’s name as you pressed forward.

You could hear, distantly, that the Clown was looking for you. You couldn’t tell how far he was, because of the blood in your ears, but you hoped against hope that you had time. Red handprints spread across the wooden stairs, flecks of blood in speckles when you coughed. You looked up at the window, seeing the outside and the night sky, and then forced yourself to keep going, the memory of a monster fueling your desperate gamble. Not even a gamble, but an idea that was so insane that it had to work, because if it didn’t, then, it wasn’t just you who would suffer the consequences.

“Mikey,” Your voice was even quieter, not just because you were struggling through waves of pain, but because you could smell cheap gin and cigarette smoke getting closer, and so your voice was a tiny hiccup of noise as you finally hoisted yourself to the top of the steps. You doubled over there for a second (but here, where seconds were everything, it might as well have been an hour), feeling the rug dampen, before pushing yourself to keep going. You stood up again, a rough and inelegant motion, and made for the room farthest from the stairs– the only room not covered with dust, a room with furniture and memories, and here you were, spilling your blood across the rugged floor. But, there was a corner of the room, darker than the rest, and it seemed like as good a place as any to die, right? Desperation clawed at you as you barely made it into that shadowed space, before your knees finally refused to move anymore and you landed in a clumsy heap. You were thankfully shielded by half a shelf, at least, and that was as good enough as any. You curled in as best you could, and closed your eyes, hearing your heartbeat in your ears, the thumping growing louder with each passing second. Maybe if you screamed, Michael would find you– but, then, so would the Clown. You just had to hope that you’d made it.

“Hush, hush, hush,” You whispered, the old children’s song splintered and broken– feeling your entire body begin to shake, both out of terror and cold loss of blood, “Here comes the Boogeyman...”

A wheezing laugh, close enough to be heard, which meant it was too close. Your corner suddenly didn’t feel as safe anymore. A bolt of panic caused your fingers to clench, at the thought of a slow and tortured death. The panic became a lance of pure terror as you heard creaking of the wooden staircase, and the thudding in your ears became a dull roar, so loud you were sure it could be heard. Your bloody handprints would tell him that you were here, and then it would all be over.

The Clown entered the room. His took up the entire frame, as tall as he was wide, the key ring of fingers jingling with every single step. He didn’t hunt like a panther, no fluid grace (not like Myers), just a sluggish trod into the room, his boots leaving dirty imprints on the rug. You held your breath as he began to look around, and when his eyes landed on you, you felt the world freeze. But, by some power, his eyes slid right past your corner, not even noticing you were there. The rest of the search passed in the same fashion, nothing found, nothing gained. Then, with a grunt of disgust, he turned to leave. You shifted and let out a tiny breath of air.

Instantly, all sounds ceased. Not even the floorboards creaking. The Clown turned back around, reentering the room, and began to search. He was meticulous now, carefully checking every nook and cranny, and gradually making his way over to you. You knew it was over. There was no way out, and that held true, as soon as he stopped in front of your hiding spot and... everything stopped. Then, painfully slow, he bent down, until his eyes met yours. They seemed to twinkle: ‘Found you’.

You screamed. It wasn’t even a scream, it was more like a keen, a frazzled wail of indescribable terror, and a desperate call for help. You pushed back, trying to get away, and he cackled, grimy hands reached out to grab you–

Only to be slammed against a wall. You opened your eyes, and then your entire body spasmed at the sight, of Michael Myers, as he grappled with the Clown. He didn’t even have his knife, and that was the most startling of all. You could tell, by the way Michael’s chest heaved, that he had sprinted to reach you, running from wherever he had been, and that made your already frazzled senses spark again. 

Michael grabbed the Clown by the shoulders, slamming him into a section of shelves. The Clown, still surprised, was powerless to stop the brutal strength of the Shape. It didn’t take long for the surprise to wear off, and the Clown lunged, trying to embed a knife in Myers’ heart. A dodge, then another, a piece of furniture getting thrown right by your head. You let out a muffled noise of surprise, and then the Clown seemed to remember you, making a dash for your throat with his knife. Michael tackled the Clown then, as you let out another strangled noise of fear, at the sight of the Clown desperately trying to get you and Michael using all of his strength to prevent that. 

A kick. A shove. The sound of a window shattering. For a moment, you felt fear again, that maybe Michael had been tossed out of the room– only, to hear the heavy thud, and realize it had been the Clown. Instantly, you felt yourself relax. Too much, actually. Your body went slack, and it was due in part to blood loss, leaving you to lay there, watching your savior. Michael stood up, sporting new cuts and stains, but his mask the same as ever, as he slowly walked over to you. You weren’t afraid, though. Instead, you gingerly reached out for him. And just as carefully, he reached out for you, sliding his hands under you and picking you up. You dangled in his arms like a rag doll, tucked to his chest. 

“Michael,” You whispered, stuttering for a moment, “You came.”

You didn’t expect a response, and so you didn’t mind the silence. Instead, you closed your eyes, safe with the knowledge that you were... safe. At least, for now. And that was enough for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll be doing three male Killers and three female Killers. Cheers


	3. The Trapper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A feeling of agitation, an unnerving presence

Unbidden, thoughts of a certain masked Killer sprang to mind, like stubborn weeds in a field. You squeezed your eyes shut, as if to ignore them, but it wasn’t any use. 

“Evan,” You eventually mumbled, the word like some sort of sacred mantra, as you looked to the sky and pleaded, “Evan–“

The sounds were getting closer. You didn’t have time to waste, and so you sucked in a cringing breath, and sealed the words in your throat, forcing yourself forward through the forest. 

The MacMillan estate was as familiar to you as the back of your own hands. A good thing, too, as you could barely see, and any wrong turn would mean a slow and torturous death. A slippery hand pressed firmly to your side, as you tried to stem the blood loss, or at least leave less of a trail to follow. Briefly, you looked back, tracing the thick line of red across the ground, and then you doubled over and cursed. The pain bit you like a savage dog, and you knew that your stubborn borrowed time would end soon. It didn’t matter that you knew the land perfectly, if your own blood led the Killer Clown to you. 

You glanced up. There, dominating the horizon, were the Ironworks. The factory was still the same as the last time you saw it, an unchanging symbol in a land out of time. Everyone knew that the factory was a death trap. But no one knew it as well as you did, perhaps. No one knew the twists and turns, and the sharp drops, the broken windows with shattered glass. Through the ever increasing haze of pain, you pressed forward, your stance gradually dropping and your breath becoming a gentle but steady groan. In the distance, you could hear laughter, trailing after you.

The instant you stumbled through the metal archway, a bolt of pain struck through you, and you let out a muffled but sharp noise of pain. Barely, you fell to the wall, the rough concrete steady under shaking hands. Your time was coming to an end. 

“No,” You whispered, terrified. You could feel your heart beating in your ears, and even if it was faint now, it wouldn’t stay that way for long. Already, it began to grow louder. You didn’t have any time left, but you needed more. Instead, you pushed yourself off the wall, and began the arduous climb of the metal staircase. Your hands left trails of red across the rusted metal, and you leaned heavily on the guardrail, trying to keep your pace steady, even as your heart beat so loud in your ears that you felt like it would burst your skull in half. You knew what that meant. You still glanced behind yourself anyway. The Clown stared back.

You were halfway up the stairs by then, but you knew that didn’t mean much. Already, the splitting pain in your skull was migrating down to your chest, sending daggers of agony into your lungs and heart. The Clown chuckled and began to walk up the stairs. You abandoned any pretense of caution and rushed ahead. The sudden movement, coupled with your injuries, was a deadly combination, and as soon as you reached the metal catwalk, you had to sprawl yourself across the guardrail. Your blood made it hard to keep a grip, but you had no choice. 

“Evan,” You called, your voice low and scratchy, not even a call at all, just a low sound. You slid down the catwalk, tracking the Killer behind yourself by the vibrations in the grates beneath you. And he was close. The newest set of stairs in front of you made you realize... that your death was here. You knew you wouldn’t be able to climb them, and so you decided, through the blurry lens of pain, to improvise.

You turned around. The Clown leered at you, noticing that you were trapped, and his rattling cough shook you to your core. Almost languidly, he began to walk forward. You resisted the urge to backpedal, and instead looked to your right, to the hole in the guardrails. It was a steep drop. 

A pause. You lunged for the hole, and the Clown, quicker than his size would suggest, snapped up your leg. Or at least, he would have. There was the sudden, sharp sound of a blade being blocked, and you twisted at the last moment, until only half of your body was hanging off of the catwalk, the only half weakly wrapped around metal rods, as you looked up. 

It was the Trapper, Evan MacMillan. You barely believed your eyes, as you looked at his twisted, grinning mask, his looming body as he stared down the Clown. His arm still held a trap, while his other held his blade, rusted and red, as grim as the man who wielded it. And yet, despite yourself, you smiled. Maybe it was the blood loss, but the fact that he was here, that he had come and had heard you...

“Evan,” You mouthed, and you saw the faintest turn of his mask, as he glanced over to you. And for a split second, he paused, taking in all of the blood and gore, that you tenaciously clung to life. Then, he turned back. Something in his stance hardened, his fist clenching around the trap. He growled. Then, he began to advance forward. The Clown cautiously walked back, tilting his head, dancing his blade through his fingers like a schoolchild with a pencil. You could see his key ring, the fingers of your friends still there, making you shudder with revulsion and cling tighter to the catwalk. 

Your mistake. With a cackle, and a wet sounding cough, the Clown lunged. But, though Evan prepared to block, it wasn’t Evan that the Clown aimed for. It was you. With a movement quicker than you would have expected, he brought down the full weight of himself in a kick, hitting half of your torso. Your grip faltered. Your hands, slippery with blood, failed to hold, and the sensation of falling hit you. On instinct alone, you reached out.

And by instinct alone, the Trapper caught you.

You felt your arm wretch out of your socket with a pop, the right arm, as Evan held tight to save you. You didn’t scream, but it was a close thing, as you flailed and scrambled to try and get back up, and then you stopped trying to move entirely, because even a single movement was pure agony, and you managed pained gasps as your vision flickered in and out. Down below, the incinerator vats seemed to yawn towards you. You could still hear the Clown laughing. You looked up, and watched in fear as he began to advance on the Trapper. With you still in his grip, Evan was nearly defenseless. Only nearly. As the Clown lunged, Evan managed to block, using the trap on his arm to stop the blade. And again, a second time, when the Clown huffed and tried to repeat. 

And come the third time, you knew the Trapper wouldn’t be so fortunate. With every square inch of your force of will, all bundled tightly into a single movement, you swung upwards, grabbing onto the catwalk with your left arm. With muscles straining and then tearing to pieces, you forced yourself up, your fingers dig into the grate. And, for a single second, you waited. On cue, the Clown lunged. You lunged too, wrapping your hand around his ankle, pulling hard and dropping back down. The sudden force pulled him with you, toppling him over as he yelled in surprise. It wasn’t even a yell, it was more like the noise a surprised pig would make. And then the Clown fell, dropping down from the height of the metal catwalk, down into the incinerator vat below. 

Then, blissfully, silence. 

The Trapper, or rather, Evan MacMillan reached down, using both hands to hook under your arms and pull you up. Without the strain on your right arm, you felt the pain anew, but ignored it, letting Evan set you down on the grate. You stared at one another, wordless, until you felt yourself getting lightheaded again, aware that you’d lost a lot of blood. So, you tucked your legs in, and patted the spot next to you.

“Want to sit with me?” You asked. Evan paused, then nodded, carefully crouching down beside you, though still gripping his weapon, alert. You shuffled a little closer, then sighed, sitting in the company of a Killer, and for once, feeling completely at ease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Running Talley  
> Times Clown Thrown From Big Height: 2


	4. The Huntress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Territorial imperative at its finest

All around you, the sounds of the Red Forest sprang to life, as if awakened by your frantic fleeing. The smell of damp, and earthy rain. A light mist still rolled off the ground, sweeping around trees, reaching out as if to hide you. Between each of your haggard breaths, the sounds of the forest echoed, mixing in with your footsteps and brief stumbles in the damp ground. At more than one point, you had to stop, leaning heavy against a tree, the blood from your wounds marking the bark. And the trees themselves, great redwoods taller than anything you’d ever seen, with their shielding canopies, staring down at you. And maybe the sight of those trees, in this familiar forest, was why you gripped so desperately to one name. 

“Ana,” You hastily sputtered out, “Ana.”

As if in response to your words, the tree line seemed to part. You let all of the air out of your lungs in a single exhale of pure relief, as the house rose on the horizon. The house. The name you’d heard whispered in hushed voices, calling the mother’s dwelling. To you, it always was and would be a safe haven. Even now– especially now, as your hands were slippery with blood, and you swore you could heard distant traces of laughter, that wooden cabin gently beckoned you. You didn’t even hesitate as you pressed forward towards it. Wind whipped around you, whistling faintly in your ears, eerily similar to the sound of _laughter_. You sucked in another shuddering breath and kept going.

“Please be home, please,” You begged quietly, slowly limping towards an entrance. The wooden home was the same as you last remembered, warm firelight spilling out of the windows and onto the forest floor. Your breath fogged lightly in the air, and your somewhat numb fingers twitched at your sides, the blood warming them barely. The fires were a good sign, it meant that Ana was close. You hoped. 

Tentatively, you approached the door. It was closed. With a grunt of exertion, you pressed your shoulder against it, pushing your weight as best you could to get it open. You could see a smear of red spread across the door, and when you stepped back, it wasn’t even open halfway. That was fine, as you quickly slid in through the gap, then wheezed, closing the door behind yourself with another heave and bloody movement. Your head drooped as you pressed off from the door, but you looked around with surprisingly sharp eyes. 

“Ana?” You called. Your voice was raspy, and your throat hurt with every inhale. There was no response, except for the wind through the cracks in the wood, and the sounds of warm fire. You closed your eyes and exhaled sharply, but kept going. You had to. A glance behind yourself to make sure the door was closed, and then you made your way to the center room, the fire beckoning you closer, and your mind resolutely not thinking about the sounds outside. You’d lost the Clown, after all. No one could track you in this forest. ... no one. 

Gingerly, You hobbled into the main room, using walls and beams to support yourself. The smell of pine and borscht greeted you, and you felt a deep sort of comfort, laid over your wounds. The pops and crackle of the fire drew your attention as well. It was roaring, firewood recently stacked atop it, the warmth radiating outwards. For a moment, you forgot about your pain and hurried forward, to stick your hands out. A sharp gasp and whimper stopped that movement quickly, and you were forced to limp the rest of the way, extending a single hand towards it. It was nice to stand like that for a little while, ignoring the blood dripping slowly through your fingers, staining the floor. If you closed your eyes, you could ignore the metallic twang in the air, from your wounds. 

You were safe for now. Soon, Ana would come home, and everything would be fine. Maybe not completely fine, you reminded yourself over blood loss, but it would be fine soon enough. Ana would give you some remedies for the wounds, and wrap them in old cloth, then you’d both sit together by the fire. 

So lost in recollections, you almost didn’t notice the new sounds coming from the forest. You opened your eyes, feeling your heart climb through your throat and land in your ears, your eyes wide as you stared out through the window. What was that? All of the wildlife had gone quiet, and only the sound of gentle rain, the fire, and your labored breathing could be heard. A whistling wind rustled through the trees, reaching your ears– and carrying laughter with it.

Your blood went cold.

“No,” You cried, your voice quiet and throat raw, “No, no, please...”

The laughter began to come closer. It was still faint, but it was coming, and you desperately wished it would just go away. Why couldn’t he just leave you alone? You squeezed your eyes shut in despair, reaching out to lean against the cobblestones of the fireplace, only to hear a faint clank. You looked over to see what it was, but your eyes slanted in realization as you took in the sight of the axe. And, with careful grasp, you reached out, wrapping your hand around the handle. The axe was heavy, too much for you to swing more than once right now. But, you’d never felt safer than when you were near the Huntress, and even holding one of her axes in your hands made everything calmer. 

Laughter. The wind told you it was close, and you knew it was close by the rotten smells that reached your nose, terrible and ripping away any comfort of the room. The Clown smelled like cheap liquor, cigarettes, and pain. You bit the inside of your cheek to stop from whimpering again, as you quickly turned away, to the main table of the room. It was covered by a loved white cloth, embroidered at the edges, and just long enough for you to hide under. You collapsed to the ground in a jagged motion, before crawling under the table, hauling the axe in with yourself. The room seemed much darker from under the table, but at least it was safer. Just in time, too, the sound of a door being shoved open, slamming against the wall. You could hear your heartbeat roaring in your ears. Heavy footsteps, a rattling cough, as the Clown began to walk to the main room. 

He stopped in the doorway. He was tall and imposing, layers of fat rolling under his skin with each inhale and wheezing laugh. His eyes gleamed in the firelight, and you gripped the axe tighter, the chemical burn of alcohol on your nose as the Clown walked forward. First, he stopped in front of the fireplace. He grunted vaguely, as if in response to the warmth, before snorting something in his throat and turning away, stomping to the table. You were as still as a little rabbit, while his stubby hands ran over the cloth, leaning heavy on the table as he muttered. Then, he pulled away with a laugh, making his way to the other end of the room. You didn’t chance a sigh a relief, instead, you simply watched as he roughly opened a cupboard, searching for you. Nothing was there, but gathered things, and some woven gifts you’d made Ana. The Clown took one in his hands and crumbled it with a derisive and gasping chuckle. You winced, but there was nothing for it. You could always make more. But, it was when he stopped, then pulled out a familiar mask, that your heart stopped too. 

Ana loved her masks. You knew that her mother made them for her when she was young, and that she treasured every one. None so much as the one of the rabbit. When she wasn’t wearing it, she would put it away in a safe place, and then you’d get to see her full smile as she walked through the forest with you–

But that wasn’t important. Not now. Ana’s mask meant the world to her, and the Clown held it in grimy hands with a certain cruel curiosity. You’d seen that same curiosity before, when he killed your friend. The light glinted off his morbid key ring, the fingers still there, and you grew impossibly angry. For once, you wanted to fight back. You could die and come back, but Ana didn’t have much left, and you didn’t care if the Clown made you wish for death, she deserved to be happy. With a noiseless huff, you slowly crawled out from under the table, your wounds throbbing but no longer a concern. Instead, as you stood up to your full height, your face went cold and dark. If you’d looked in a mirror, you would be shocked to see that you looked just like the Killers you ran from. The Clown turned the mask over, holding it in a perilous grasp, and that’s when you struck. 

You rose the axe up as much as you could, the blade catching the light of the flames and flashing red. Then, with a roar of pain and rage, you swung forward. The Clown could only manage a partial turn before the blade struck its target. It embedded itself in his torso, sinking into the gross and unnatural flesh, causing him to rear back in a mixture of pain and surprise. He dropped the mask, and you released the axe, darting forward to snatch Ana’s mask up before stepping away. In a swift motion to free up your hands, you strapped the mask onto your face, the veil billowing behind you. Blood seeped out of the gashes on your body, between the cracks of the most recent scabs. You wanted the Clown out, and gone. You didn’t want to smell that damned cocktail of suffering that diffused off his rotted body any longer, and you didn’t want to see his face, twisted with a mockery of laughter. And so, instead of cringing away in fear, you stood tall, your hands balled into fists and your face a scowl.

Oddly enough, the Clown didn’t lunge for you. No, he stood there, confused, the axe still in his chest. With an unnatural motion, he removed the axe, the wound squelching but leaving no blood. Then, still looking at you, he dropped the axe onto the ground. The air was uneasy with tension, and at first, you couldn’t understand why, until you realized– you were wearing the mask. You’d attacked him with an axe. He must have thought you were the Huntress. You wanted to smile, but didn’t want to risk it. Instead, you cleared your throat, rolling your shoulders like you’d seen Ana do before, and then pointing to the door. A signal to leave. 

The Clown turned, muttering something. You felt a rush of elation that it was working, and it would have worked all the way, too, if not for the sound of humming that began to come closer. Instantly, both of you froze. The wind carried the humming of Ana, not the same song she always sang, but one for happier times, ones she reserved for when you were both alone. And she was right outside the cabin. 

The Clown turned to you. He was no longer frowning, no longer intimidated. Instead, he sized you up, as if trying to remember you, and when he did remember you, his face twisted into that same sick grin he always held. He let out a rattling cough, then transitioned it into a laugh. Your heart jumped into your throat, as you shouted:

“Ana!” 

A lot of things happened at once. The Clown lunged for you with his blade, Ana tore the door of its hinges, and you fell to the ground with a scream. You kicked and tried to throw the Clown off, as he cackled and brought the switchblade down into your arm. Getting stabbed never hurt any less, and you screamed again, and the Clown prepared to stab you a second time, only for Ana to suddenly appear behind him. She was an avenging angel, her face pure fury, her stance absolute rage, as she grabbed the fat man and roared, tearing him off of you. Before the Clown could even try to fight back, Ana threw him into the stairs. And, while he rolled to try and get up, Ana grabbed her axe off the ground. She lingered as she looked at you, and her face morphed with pain at your suffering, before she turned back to the Clown and growled, hunching over you protectively.

The Clown stood, obviously trying to decide if he wanted to fight or leave. But, as he caught sight of Ana’s vindictive expression, he paled. Then, with a noise not unlike a pig, he ran. He stumbled through the side room, hitting a table, before running out of the door. He didn’t even bother looking back as he fled, huffing and wheezing with the exertion of running. The sounds of the forest swallowed him up, and then he was gone, taking the smell of himself with him. Ana still stood over you, protective, her teeth barred in a snarl as she watched the way the Clown had fled. You reached out a hand to touch her arm.

“Ana,” You whispered. She stopped, turning back to you, her face becoming gentle and sad. You smiled despite the pain, and carefully removed the mask from your head, handing it to her. Ana held it in a light yet reverent grasp, setting it down on the table behind her. Then, just as reverently, she slid her arms under you, picking you up. You tucked your head into her chest as she carried you, bringing you to the chair next to the fire, and as she sat down, holding you in her arms, you felt like everything would be fine. You’d have to clean and dress your wounds, but for the moment, Ana and you sat there, close together, and content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Local woman going home finds home invasion in progress


	5. The Nurse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nurse’s calling

The unnatural, foggy lights of the forest around Crotus Prenn Asylumn had never felt more comforting than they did right now. Your lungs were haggard, and you felt every stitch in your side at once, as you sprinted through the cloudy wisps. Each time you passed through one, another one seemed to appear ahead, pushing you to go forward. But, with the Clown still somewhere behind you, it wasn’t as though you’d stop running anytime soon. Not even as you paused by a tree, and coughed up red. Nor when you touched your face, and your hand came back covered in blood. The adrenaline in your system was the only thing keeping you going, and so you _kept going_. 

Crotus Prenn Asylum appeared from the forest and the fog, the sleek grey structure rising up from the darkness. You stumbled for a moment, reaching a hand out in surprise, feeling a name escape your lips with it: 

“Sally.”

Her name brought to mind the Asylum itself, the tall windows and burnt corridors, of sitting down while she doted on you, fixing up cuts she’d given you earlier that Trial. The constant, low sound of her breathing, a light wheeze that you’d grown accustomed to. The memories made you smile through the pain, but only for a moment, before her name caught in your throat again as you ran across the grass, “Sally. _Sally_.” 

The adrenaline was fading fast, but that was fine. Up ahead, you could see the entrance to the main building of the asylum, next to the collapsed doors and the shattered glass that littered the ground. With hands sloppy with dripping blood, you stumbled up the steps, crashing heavily into a wall and then pressing off, leaving a bloody impact mark behind as you stumbled. You were inside the asylum, which meant that you were safer than you were outside. You just had to make it up the steps, and then you could rest. So, with an almost frantic pace, you hurried down the hall. Around you, the asylum echoed with silence, the whispers of ghosts long since dead, of what once was and never would be, piles of rubble surrounding your flight. You could see, from the shattered windows, the sprawling outside area, the woods sheltered by a veil of fog. You kept going.

“Come on,” You urged yourself, feeling the weight of fatigue heavy in your limbs, your wounds beginning to throb, “Just, just a little bit more...” You tried to take the stairs two at a time, only to falter halfway, switching to one, and by the time you were at the top, feet planted firmly on the old concrete, your breathing had become a steady wheeze. It was a little ironic, to you at least, that you were dying in a hospital. But, that wasn’t the only reason you smiled. Up ahead, the main room of the second floor. The only room not as destroyed as the others, one you had purposely tidied up over several visits. Memories of Sally floated to life in there, and you gingerly began to walk towards them. She always worried too much about you, and had insisted on keeping medical supplies on hand for whenever you would visit. Just in case.

_Looks like she was right_ , you thought, as you stumbled through the doorway and nearly fell to the ground. The blood loss made you woozy, and you had to take a moment to steady yourself. Your hands were stained red, and you didn’t doubt that your clothes looked the same, but you didn’t spare that any mind as you hugged the wall, slowly sliding towards the cabinet with the medical supplies. And you made it, barely. With your last vestiges of strength, you dropped down in front of the cabinet and yanked the door open with a grunt of exertion. You could see a handful of medical kits, things you’d scavenged from the fog, and you grabbed the first one you could find, tearing it open and pulling out the supplies with shaking hands.

You grabbed the first thing you could, which was a roll of gauze tape, along with a small bottle of antiseptic. Clumsily, You doused the tape with as much antiseptic as you could actually get onto it, the rest of it spilling onto the floor. You wheezed weakly, dropping the bottle through numb fingers, and hoping you’d done enough. And, since you’d done this before and knew what would happen, you grabbed whatever thick cloth you could find and bit down on it. Then, without preamble, you pressed the gauze to your wounds. 

Pain. Sharp, excruciating, stabbing pain. You held your scream, feeling your entire face contort, the sudden rictus in your jaw as you clenched down on the rag. You just continued to hold the septic-soaked gauze to your wounds, until the pain ebbed into a dull throb, and your muscles released the rag in your mouth. Gingerly, you began to wrap the gauze around the wounds, hissing or grunting occasionally. But, already you felt miles better, the blood stopped up, no longer running through your hands and pooling across the floor. You exhaled in relief. If you were lucky, the Nurse– or, rather, Sally will have heard you, and would already be rushing over to see what was wrong. You sniffled absently, putting away some of the medical supplies that you’d accidentally thrown across the ground. As you swept up a pack of butterfly tape, however, you paused. 

Slowly, you tilted your head to the left, then to the right, trying to piece out any noise. There was nothing, but, that didn’t mean it was safe. You suddenly felt incredibly paranoid, the hairs on your neck rising, your back arching like a cat. Someone was watching you. And the Nurse never tripped your defenseless, not even during a Trial, which meant that it could only be a different Killer. One that didn’t know the rules of the Realms and as such, didn’t know the dangers of trespassing on another Killer’s home. Your mouth formed the word _The Clown_ as your eyes widened then narrowed in rapid succession. 

With an almost lithe, cat-like grace, You rose yourself to your knees. The Clown was coming, but you knew that Sally was too. You trusted her with your life, even in the worst of situations. But, your heartbeat wasn’t in your ears, and so you slyly eyed the door. You knew every nook and cranny in Crotus Prenn Asylum, and the Clown wouldn’t stand a chance of trying to find you as you disappeared. And by then, Sally would be there, and everything would be fine. Once again, you thanked your eerie situational premonition, keeping mind of the feeling of apprehension, as you slowly began to slink out of the room. To the doorway, then you figured one of the old ward rooms should work, somewhere in the shadows where you knew you could disappear. 

_”Hehehh.”_

You shot straight up, and suddenly, a roaring, hammering heartbeat filled you ears. Where was he? Oh no, no, no, he was closer than he should’ve been, you thought you’d had more time, but now–

Purple obstructed your vision. Gas, you realized, some kind of deadly concoction. It filled your throat, seeping into your lungs, choking out each breath you tried to take. You gasped and wheezed, and you flailed your arms to try and get it away, looking around with frantic but bleary eyes. You couldn’t hear anything over the heartbeat, and you wished, desperately, that Sally had left some kind of weapon– it wouldn’t have worked, but now all you could do was stumble to the doorway, to try and get out, run somewhere safe, and hope that the chill running down your spine would leave.

It didn’t work.

Your hands met the doorway, but then, a cinch around your wrist. By then, the clouds of purple noxious gas had faded somewhat, leaving your mouth dry and tasting of anesthesia and your vision clearer than before. You wished that wasn’t the case, because it was a hand on your wrist, holding it so tightly that you could feel the bones grinding together, and then you were yanked forward, into the darkness. And from the darkness, a grim visage slowly appeared, greased-painted face and the smell of cheap gin and smoke.

“Sally!” You croaked as loud as you could, your throat still dry, “Sally!” 

The Clown only smiled. He rose up his other hand, the one with the bottle, and you could see the vaporous gas slowly leaking out, filling the room with it again, and slowly, you felt your limbs begin to grow heavy. The anesthesia. He wasn’t just going to kill you, not like the others would have. No, he was going to _hurt_ you, and make it last, because he was a horrible, caustic slab of terror, and that’s what he did. The smoke was suppressing your panic too, because you found there was none, just a dull, resigned sort of acceptance. Your lungs rattled and the sound of a wheezing, last breath reached your ears–

Until it registered. And, you smiled, as a screech pierced the air, and Sally Smithson appeared. 

Sally seemed to be wreathed in the dying light of day, her hands literally glowing with fissures of energy, her floating stance frenzied. There was panic there, not the usual pain that came with her ‘blinks’, but an emotional one. The cracks in her hands flared brightly, colored with a burning orange, as she took in the scene. And saw you, wild eyed with fear, saw the Clown with his echoing cackle. She rose her hand and pointed. The Clown tightened his grip. You yelped in pain, and that’s when the Nurse attacked. 

Sally moved faster than you’d ever seen her move before, her dress barely making any ripped in the air, as she disappeared and reappeared in front of you, so close that you could smell cotton and disinfectant from her clothes. The Clown jolted back, surprised, giving you an opening to yank your wrist back– and feel the flood of pain from that, but that was for later, as you dropped to the ground and scurried backwards. He grunted, tried to reach you again, but the Nurse screeched again, blocking him. You wheezed, stumbling to your feet, and watched in morbid fascination as Sally tackled the Clown.

She didn’t even bother hesitating. In an instant, her hands closed around his throat, and she shoved him back, slamming him into a wall, so hard that loose plaster rained down overhead. The Clown, in his surprise, dropped the bottle he held in his hands, and there was the sound of shattering glass as the gas completely filled the room. You doubled over, forcing your eyes shut and coughing, trying to get whatever was in that bottle out of your lungs. If the last one was bad, this one was potent, mixed strong and now you couldn’t even breathe– you were choking. As Sally throttled the Clown, you began to stumble backwards, trying to get a grip, or get some air, something. 

A trip. Your knees finally buckled out from under under yourself, the anesthesia seeping into your blood, and you tried to reach out, grab ahold of something before you hit the ground, only to realize there was no ground, you’d fallen out the broken window, and then, time seemed to stop. It was as if everything was playing in slow motion, as your hands rose up in front of yourself. A few errant drops of blood trailed through the air. You could feel the wind, now cold and biting, and as your hair flew in front of your face, a striking frame to a terrified portrait. But, as you fell, all you could think of was what Sally would do when she realized what had happened. If you squinted your eyes, maybe you’d see her, one last–

The whoosh of displaced air, a heavy and sudden whump, and you reeled, trying to figure out what happened, as Sally came into view. Her face was inches from yours, and you realized she was holding you, having caught you in the air, and now you were drifting slowly to the ground. You could feel her gentle breath on your face, each one a small wheeze.

“Sally,” You exhaled, a grateful smile growing on your face, “I... thank you.” 

You both touched down on the ground, but neither made any move to get up. You knew in your heart that you were safe now. And, with the utmost of care, Sally lowered her head to you, until your foreheads touched. You closed your eyes, safe in the arms of the kindest woman you’d ever met, and forgetting of everything else for one single perfect moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clown running Monitor and Abuse, for shame


	6. The Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a shocking twist of events.

You seemed to stumble into the snow, collapsing onto your knees. The frost dug into your palms, and as you struggled to stand, you glanced up. The grim exterior of Léry’s Memorial Institute stared silently back, the brick exterior hiding a silent and unerring tomb, tucked away from time. The windows that lined the outside stood sentinel, some still lit up, etched with ice. As you shakily stood to your knees, you took in the entrance itself. The double door, held open, leading to the reception area. Wind chilled you, and so you hastily walked forward, leaving a faint red trail in the snow as you crossed the doorway. 

You expected some temperature change– had hoped for something. But, the inside was just as cold as the outside, a realization that only made your heart sink, like the lights flickering about you. Cold air meant no one was home. And if no one was home...

“Herman,” You whispered, scrunching your hands up. A few seconds of silence, while you just let yourself... wallow in despair, really. You shouldn't have had any despair left in yourself, but these Trials always seemed to find more. And, if you hadn’t been listening to the gentle buzz of dying fluorescents, you wouldn’t have noticed the faint sound of a heartbeat in your eyes. Instantly, your eyes shot wide open, and your stand hardened, throwing your lethargy off like a cloak.

“No,” You hissed, starring out the open door, “No,” as if that would change anything. It must’ve been some overwhelming presence, but the fact was the same, that the heartbeat in your ears wasn’t going away. In fact, instead, it began to grow closer. You held a hand to your wounds as you hurried back up to the door, your breath leaving frantic clouds of steam in the frozen air. You... you needed time. You _needed more time._ The walls were high, but they wouldn’t keep the Clown out, and the doors were wide open–

Survival instinct took control. If the doors were open, you’d close them. That went against the rules of the Trial, but this wasn’t a normal Trial anymore, and so you began to heave the thick metal doors shut, the force leaving trenches in the hardened dirt, until you finally gasped and they were both closed. Without the wind whistling in, and the doors sealed shut, the facility had become an eerily quiet tomb, with you locked inside. But, you weren’t safe nor protected. This tomb would easily become your grave if you didn’t keep going.

Thinking quickly, you ran to the vending machine to the left of the doorway, pressing your shoulder against the side and pushing, shoving, until it landed with a _slam_ , the glass shattering, the floor tiles cracking. It would work. And the chairs, the ones strewn around the lobby, would be an alarm system. You grabbed as many as your bloodied hands could hold, and you piled them on top of the shattered vending machine, into a precious mountain– until you had to stop. 

“No,” You groaned, doubling over. It was easy to ignore your injuries before– they’d scabbed over, something to do with Herman’s realm, the way the air felt. But, now they were opened again, and you could _feel_ the blood seeping through your fingers, staining your clothes and the tiles under you. You held your only free hand to your forehead, the heartbeat getting closer, as you whispered desperately, “Where are you, Herman?”

And then... it hit you. A memory, from not so long ago. 

_If you’re ever in trouble... the EST in the Treatment Room. High voltage in short bursts... paralyze... I will get there._

_Electro Shock Treatment._ , the words echoed. Located in the Treatment Room. Your breathing leveled out, as the plan solidified in your mind. You’d go there, and you’d use it on the Clown. And, after you used it, Herman would show up, because he kept his word and would know something was wrong. And then it was a matter of... dealing with the Clown. You could already see Herman’s delighted grin at the prospects. And, a small part of you joined in. 

You snapped out of your thoughts, right as the dull murmur of a heartbeat had become a gross howl. There was no time for that right now, especially not when your injuries held a weight over your head. But, you weren't some trapped animal, waiting to die. No, you were quick, and you were clever. The Clown would come to you, and then the chase would begin, with yourself as the bait- and the penalty for failure being your tortured demise. No pressure. 

Slam. Thud. The sound of a footsteps in the snow, you could hear, over the nearly deafening sound of the heartbeat in your ears. You held your breath, letting it burn your lungs to force you to focus. It sounded like he was right behind you, but you knew that was just another cruel trick. But what wasn't a trick was that he was right outside, and he _was_ getting closer. You pushed matted hair out of your face. 

"Hehehehh..." 

The footsteps stopped at the door. Your entire body trembled despite yourself, as the Clown lowered himself down and peered through the window of the metal door. His eyes caught you, and his body shook with another set of greasy laughter. And that was your cue to go. While he tried to force his way in (and it wouldn't take long), you turned, and began to run. The Entity may have swapped the Institute's layout at random, on whatever whim took it, but the EST was always in the main room. And the main room was always in the center. You vaulted over the receptionist's desk, just in time to hear the Clown shatter your barricade, the chairs flying across the room. A burst of speed hit you the moment your feet touched the ground, and then you were nearly sprinting away. The Clown followed.

Broken tiles crunched underfoot, your breath coming in small puffs of chilled air. This was no longer a traditional Trial, if a Trial at all, which meant that there were no palettes, hidden away in clever spots to slow pursuit. That would mean the Clown would catch you, uncontested, but it not being a Trial meant you could cheat. Your sudden lithe burst of speed was spent, and the Clown knew this, as he laughed again. Or at least, you assumed- the heartbeat in your ears made any thinking disorientating, and you had to keep throwing looks behind your shoulder to check his distance. You tore you gaze away again, pushing your wounded self to keep going.

"Come on, come on," You pleaded, eyes darting around for something to use. And, then, you smiled. As you ran past a gurney, you turned and transformed your momentum into toppling it over, forming a barrier in your path, not even sparing a moment to look back at the Clown as you kept going. You didn't have to see to know that he was angry now- _breaking the rules_. As if your life was some game. As you reached the end of the corridor, coming up to a wall, you pushed a cart and kicked a wheelchair over. The windows that lined the wall let in a surprising amount of light, illuminating the dust particles, the drifts of the snow that had fought in- and, illuminating the blood trail you were unfortunately leaving. You grunted as you stuttered and fell to a wall, before pushing yourself off, the bloody imprint of your impact visible. There was no time.

"Come and get me!" You goaded, throwing your voice behind yourself. You jumped over a downed locker, and gave yourself a moment to look back.

The Clown... was furious. He was heaving, his eyes empty of anything but hatred and hunger. There was a bit of saliva near his mouth. You cringed, and he let out an almost animistic bellow, stomping towards you. You bottled up your fear, and ran again, the sound of the locker being crushed echoing down the hall. You were close. A window appeared, and you smiled, leaping through. At your heels, you could hear the Clown swipe- and miss. And then, you landed, and sprinted away. 

The Treatment Room loomed. It was a mishmash of metal, all chairs and TV screens. Occasionally, one of the images was replaced with a partial shot of Herman. Even that made you feel better. But, most importantly, tucked off the side, was the EST. Using the last of your speed, you dove towards it, yanking the electrodes out of their sockets. Just in time, as the Clown burst into the room, warping metal. You kicked one of the electrodes to your side, and held the other in your hand, looking up to the Clown as he looked at you. His smile was back, because to him, you were trapped, and injured- no where to go, and no time left to run. So, he walked towards you, laughing, grinning. And you held the other electrode in your hand, remembering what Herman had said about using it. He hadn't said anything about using it like you were about to, but, you were about to find out.

The crackle of electricity. Just like you'd seen Herman do before, electricity slowly began to coarse through your hands. It was painful, but you only amped up the voltage, as you outstretched your arm in a way that looked like your were begging. The Clown was looming over you now, and as he leaned down, the electricity coursing through you reached a breaking point- and your hand latched onto the Clown. The Clown suddenly writhed, the electricity spiking through his body, causing him to tense up and twitch, unable to move but being forced to spasm. You weren't doing any better, as a constant mantra of _painpainpainpain_ echoed through your head, your back arching and your mouth open in a silent scream. You couldn't move, you couldn't even let go of the Clown, because you were stuck, and like hell you were going to let him get away if you could, but-

And then, it stopped. Your painfully contorted body went limp, falling to the ground with a soft sound, your limbs twitching occasionally. Still, you managed to turn your head, to see what had happened. And you were rewarded with the sight of Herman Carter, standing there. His back was to you, as he stared at the Clown, his weapon raised threateningly. Until, you feebly coughed. Instantly, Herman turned around, crouching down next to you. Your limbs still spasmed occasionally, but other than that, you felt entirely at ease. You gently placed a hand on his wrist, and smiled.

"I knew you'd come."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, I have a really good idea for the Wraith, so expect that. I also plan on doing the Hag, since that can be a very 'horror' one.


	7. The Wraith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bloodhound, but not a predator- at least, not for you...

The Fog favored you. Maybe it was your affinity to Philip- or something else. The reasons didn’t matter, at least not right now. The only thing that mattered was that the Fog treated you with a certain affection, something that no other survivor received. So as you ran into darkness, blood streaming under your fingers, you were not afraid. The thick swaths of mist that blanketed the jagged tree line seemed to reach out, fingers of clouds that wrapped around you comfortingly. The fog became a dense wall that hid you, a wall of white behind you to shield you from any prying eyes- and the way forward was cleared, leading you to some form of safety. Or, at the very least, away.

It was... reassuring. And soon, sporadic Birch trees were joined by metal. The smell of rust and steel filled your lungs, and that’s when you knew that you had _found_ safety: Autohaven Wreckers. Stacks of scrap, as tall as you and spanning across the scrapyard, stood as silent monoliths that greeted your arrival. The gutted corpses of cars were scattered around, upturned, making alcoves and hidden places. In another time, you’d smile at some silly memory (hiding in a backseat, listening to grass move, giggling), but not now. You rose one hand to your mouth, the fog swirling around you in anxious patterns.

“Philip!” You called. Your voice bounced around the silence, before it was suffocated. Rustling leaves. Groaning, precariously balanced metal. The caws of crows. But, nothing more. You tried again, “Philip!” Keeping your ears trained on something, anything, and being rewarded with nothing. 

Philip wasn’t here. He was somewhere else. Not even the faintest shimmer in the darkness, no light movement of grass. You lowered your hand, and the mist moved to shield you again, swallowing you whole in some macabre comfort.

 

You had time. It was true that the Fog would protect you, up to a point. You couldn’t... _fight_ the Clown, and you weren’t sure if you could run, but you _could_ hide. That would work, but for how long? You needed Philip. Your hand bunched up in the fabric of your clothes, lingering on the scabs of blood, and then, you paused. 

Philip- or, as some knew him, the Wraith- was trained to hunt. To track. And the one thing he tracked better than anyone was blood. Like a bloodhound, seasoned hunter that he was. You looked down at your wounds, staring intensely at the ugly slash that trailed across your side. It was already starting to close up. And that meant no blood trail. No blood trail meant no Philip, and no Philip...

It was a risk. The blood could lead the Clown to you. But it _would_ lead Philip to you. It was a plan that hinged on time, and luck, but if there was one thing you had, it was the blessing of the Fog. That had to be worth something, right? 

And, without any preamble, your wounds were reopened. Enough that blood ran down your side- you always seemed to have more in you- and dripped onto the ground, mixing with the dirt, words escaping your mouth in a soft grunt. Enough that every drop caused little movements in the mist that shrouded you. And it had to be enough. Keeping one hand on the wound so you could move, you began to walk. Walk, towards the towering structure of scrapped metal and ruined cars that stood in the center of the junkyard. Being in these realms for so long meant that each hiding space was a secret you kept. All you had to do was cross that structure, and then crawl to the spot, and wait. Wait for the telltale quiet sound of grass crunching, heavy footsteps getting closer, the sound of a bell. 

So you walked. Or stumbled, one hand clutched close to your side, the other grouping out in front of you. The fog swirled comfortably around you as you slowly made your way forward, a trail of blood following your path, little flecks of red in the dirt. You concentrated on keeping your breathing steady, and made sure not to focus too hard on the pain. It was fine. You’d be fine. The central tower was ahead of you now, and you smiled decisively, reaching your arms upwards in a move to climb it. Just to get a better view of the junkyard- and maybe you hoped to see Philip too. 

“Come on,” you quietly grunted, gingerly clambering up the stacked cars, huffing with each motion. Your clammy hands gripped rusted metal, and you heaved yourself onto an outcropping. After taking a moment to breath again, you turned your attention to the realm as a whole. The fog was thinner now, light swaths that twisted around trees and flowed through gaps in the walls. From above, the moon shone down, a handful of stars in unfamiliar positions- a few insects, too, maybe crickets. It was almost peaceful. You traced your bloodtrail, from the forest edge to the center, the blood still a deep crimson, visible through the fog.

Or… or was it? The fog suddenly seemed to recoil, as if struck, and then with startling speed, it began to thicken, obscuring the treeline and your patches of blood. Your eyes widened, and you could just barely make out the sight of carnival colors, smothered by the mist, hidden at the edge of the forest. And just like that, you felt your blood run cold, and your heart sputter in your chest.

“No”, the words rasped, scraping free of your throat, the fog settling in around you like a gruesome cloak. There was no time- you had to get away. Frantically, you scrambled down the tower, falling off the outcropping and tumbling into the dirt. You didn’t waste a moment for pain, and instead, jolted to your feet, looking around for a way out. Everything was turned around now, and you couldn’t remember where the way out ways, especially with the Clown here. How had he found you? But that didn’t matter. To your left, you could see a path form from thinned fog, leading somewhere- away. Somewhere away. You leapt towards it, and didn’t look behind yourself as you ran.

Stealth. Quiet. You forced yourself into total silence, to slow down. The fog rendered you nearly invisible, and if not for your blood trailing behind you, you would have been completely unseen. But that was fine. Philip would see the blood, but the worry tinged at the back of your mind that he wouldn’t know to look yet, but you shoved it away. He would have to. So you crouched down in the mist, and you followed the cleared path in front of yourself. Until the path disappeared. A low, rumbling sound of dried laughter echoed through the junkyard, like a waterlogged branch snapping. 

“Heheheh…”

You shivered. Thinking quickly, you ducked to the left, clinging to the relative cover of a nearby stack of old tires. The cackling, careening sound of coughing grew loud… and then quiet, fading away. You bit your lip, still holding your hand to your side, then slowly began to walk in the opposite direction. Find someplace to hide. Find Philip. As you crouch-walked, the blood dripping onto the dirt, you uncomfortably imagined what would happen if you failed. _Something terrible_ , your mind whispered, _something awful._

You shook your head decisively, and quietly filled your thoughts with Philip. His stories. His smile. Certainly not the creature behind you, dressed in carnival garb. And maybe the Clown was once a man like Philip was, twisted by the Entity, but an uneasy tension in your chest whispered that there was no such thing. 

A break in the fog. You squinted, looking for another place to hide, only to see a faint shimmer in the darkness. You smiled wide, and ran, forgetting to _slow down, take it slow_ , too excited by that fact that a shimmer meant Philip was here, and if Philip was here, you were safe, you could get out, you were _safe_. 

“Philip,” but you remembered to keep your voice low, making it carry, reaching out towards the shimmer. 

But the fog swallowed you both. You startled, surprised, then thrashed. No, no, he was right there, you saw him, it wasn’t fair! You groped around, trying to grab some scrap of cloak, his arm, something, anything- but there was nothing. And the fog didn’t dissipate; if anything, it seemed to just cling to you tighter. And try as you might, you couldn’t get to Philip. 

“Philip!” You shouted. Maybe he just couldn’t see you. Maybe that was it. You knew you’d seen him there, because if you hadn’t, then that meant he hadn’t come, that the Clown was going to find you, and kill you, and…

You grabbed something. Fabric, rough under your hand. And your first thought was _Philip_ , because of course it was. But then you cleared your mind, the world slowingdown, and you took a deep breath. You felt the blood roaring in your ears. You smelled cheap alcohol, cigarette smoke. You looked up.

And Philip wasn’t there. 

But the Clown was.

He smiled sweetly at you, a smile which slowly grew dark around the edges, like his expression, eyes filled with darkness and malice. You quickly let go of his arm, before he could try and stop you, and then you stumbled back. The fog smothered you. But it didn’t help, not now, as you fell to the ground, and the Clown cackled, and reached out-

And then you heard the faintest of sounds, over the din in your ears. You heard a bell. You saw the most invisible shimmer. And then, appearing from the mist in an instant, was Philip. 

Quicker than a flash, he pounced on the Clown, throwing him into the fog and disappearing from your sight. You shouted in fright, hearing your heartbeat thundering, hearing the sound of violence, but seeing nothing. The fog wouldn’t let you see what it didn’t want you to. And as you lay there bleeding, fear courses through you- what if Philip was losing, what if he was in danger- and so many other things that you shakily drew to your feet, and rose your head, glaring at the shadow in the fog. As they approached, you assumed the worst, and prepared yourself.

And Philip was there. He emerged, no worse for wear, the fog draped around him like a blanket. The Clown was nowhere to be seen. You blinked, and opened your mouth to speak, words failing you. Gingerly, you stepped forward, and rose your arms.

“Philip?” You squeaked. He tilted his head, and smiled, and as you rushed forward to hug him, that’s when you knew everything would be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a conceptual level, the Wraith is my favorite  
> Also Hype Train, new Killer coming out. I hope it’s a lady; there might be a new chapter here soon if that’s the case


	8. The Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Haunted Ground you tread...

Pine and oak soon gave way to the warm colors of maple trees, of an almost orange hue that descended upon the ground from the purple sky, with the red moon overhead, and that’s when you knew you were coming upon the Yamaoka Estate. A few of the leaves dropped from branches, and at the very least, your blood would blend in fairly well. But that wasn’t what was going through your mind. No, as you ran through the forest, past mossy rocks and shoots of bamboo, you could only think of one person. 

“Rin!” You shouted, calling desperately, “Rin!” 

Only the cicadas replied. But, you didn’t let despair hold you for too long. After all, you knew that Rin would be somewhere on the estate (you’d never seen her leave), and if she couldn’t hear you, that meant she was in the Spirit World- something you affectionately referred to as ‘sleeping’, because that’s what it looked like to you, at least. The other Survivors probably wouldn’t find it so endearing, but, well. Right now, that didn’t matter. The only thing that did matter was finding her, or at least, her husk. Which hopefully wouldn’t be too hard. You inhaled with another dry breath, letting the smell of the forest wash over you, as you finally broke the treeline and entered Yamaoka Estate proper. 

The bloody moon hung heavy overhead, a stark contrast to the deep blue sky, mixing with the red of the horizon in a rich purple. One of Rin’s favorite colors. Though she’d probably be upset if she saw you staring when you were busy bleeding. You started your run back up again, keeping it at a jog, no longer the breakneck speeds you maintained before. Something about being in this realm made your pains seem… distant, maybe. And they never lasted for long. You never asked Rin about it, but you noticed that here (at least when you were around), even she managed a little peace.

“Rin!” You called, lacking anything else to do, hoping again that maybe she hadn’t heard you at first. But even the wind was silent now, nothing gained, nothing left. Nothing, except a slow, decaying smell- cheap gin, cigarette smoke- and that’s when all levity vanished from your heart and mind. The slight smile slid off your face just as fast, and you turned, facing the forest. You couldn’t hear anything, but… but that kind of talk had been the death of many Survivors before you. So you spun around, searching for the closest place to hide. The main house was too far, and the shrine wasn’t enough, but the guest house, that was close, and it was four walls good enough for you to hide in. You nearly threw yourself at it, the bamboo shoots howling quietly, the stones fractured under you. The door had barely slid closed behind you when you heard the laughter. 

“ _Hehehhhehh…_ ”

Was that heartbeat in your ears yours, or _his_? Your fists bunched up on your bloodied side anxiously, and you looked around, before entering one of the empty closets in the room. Some of the lanterns still glowed orange at your presence, but you hoped the Clown wouldn’t notice. He shouldn’t. And maybe you were just overreacting, it wasn’t like he was-

“ _Hehahehh…_ ”

Right outside?...

Your fists clenched, and you were infinitely glad that you’d decided to hide in the locker, because a moment later, the sliding door was roughly thrown open, and there the Clown stood, menacing and overshadowing. He huffed and grunted, and the moment he stepped through the threshold of the room, all the lanterns blew out. The Clown stumbled back in surprise, and then muttered something obscured by another wet and disgusting cough, as he peered into the darkness and… decided to walk away. You held your breath until you were certain he was gone, and then exhaled in an almost frantic way. 

So the Clown was at the Estate. That was fine. You just had to get ot the main building, and find Rin, and do so without the Clown realizing you were there. But by the looks of it, he already had an idea, and he was either brave enough or stupid enough to venture onto another Killer’s home to try and find you.

But there was no time for you to try and think about how or why. You just had to do, and doing now meant sucking in a careful breath and holding it in your lungs as you left the locker and began to crouch out the other door. Out into the sprawling garden of the Yamaoka Estate, wreathed in an orange, fiercy haze. The bamboo shoots now echoed ominously, the wind blowing the tops and making the noise sound like eerie moans on the breeze. The lanterns you walked past still tried to light up a faint yellow, but every time, they dimmed just a fast. 

Your mouth twisted into a smile as the Yamaoke family home finally came into view, hidden behind a grove of maple trees. Vines crawled and curved up the sides, covering some of the still bright windows. The walls themselves were somewhat crumbling, off-white, painting a sad portrait of a home that was once beautiful, now only a shadow of that. But, to you, it was as close to a home as you might ever have now, stuck in this Entity Realm. And Rin, too. She would be there. So you mentally sighed in relief, and began to approach the house, relieved.

And then you stopped sharply. The sudden crunch of leaves echoed, but not from you. From someone else. You dropped down as low as you could, and glanced to your left, then to your right. The smell of fermenting plums obscured any scent the Clown might have brought with him, and you wondered, for one, frantic moment, where he was. The _snap_ of a twig behind you was answer enough.

Acting quickly, you bounced forward, shoving a lantern to your left so it toppled over in your wake. And with that, you sprinted for the house, listening with satisfaction as the Clown grunted to try and get over the fallen lantern. But your small relief was quickly overshadowed by the suddenly overwhelming sensation of fear. Try as you might, you couldn’t fight it, and it left you reeling, trying increasingly desperately to open one of the doors to the house. Any door. The Clown kept a slow pace, thudding behind you, and you winced at the sound of his breathing closing in, like a blow. _Slam_ , as you finally managed to toss open a door, no time to slide it shut. The stench of mold and mildew hit you in a wave- the house was angry. You didn’t have any time. On agile feet, you leapt over a pile of wooden rubble, landing on crumbling tatami mats, continuing to flee, kicking a few floor cushions out of the way.

Into the hall. The hallway was bathed in a dull golden glow, mixed with red, and you twisted to slam into the opposite wall- just in time to dodge the Clown’s fist flying through the paper doorway. The few pieces of faded art still left up rattled, and you could see your blood lingering on impact, freshly red where the old slashes were dulled. Breath left your lungs in a hiss, and you pressed off, taking a sudden turn and slamming the door shut, tossing a cabniet in front of it and turning around. 

Turning to see Rin.

“Rin!” You exclaimed, rushing up to her, “Rin, I-” and only to realize that it was her body, but not her mind. She was in the Spirit World. You spent exactly two seconds trying to figure out what to do, but that was two seconds too many, spent wasted, as the Clown tore through the door, lumbering into the room with a cackling bellow. And so you reached out, and grabbed Rin’s hand, hoping to wake her. But it didn’t work. So you wheeled around and stared at the Clown in fright, and he simply smiled. And in a movement quicker than you could look, he lunged forward- he was going to hit Rin! Without thinking, you threw out your arm to block the hit, because you refused to let her get hurt. Blade met skin, blood flying. 

You screamed, reeling back. You didn’t expect Rin to startle out of her sleep so badly that you could hear bones crack to realign themselves, her eyes flying open. She let out a dry rasp, and then her eyes lit up with glowing white light, taking in the room scene in less than a moment. You, covered in blood, nearly on the floor. The Clown, his switchblade drawn, a terrible laugh. 

It must have reminded her of something, because then, Rin screeched. You’d heard her do it only one time before, and you stutter-stepped in surprise, actually falling onto the ground this time, as she manifested the katana from her arm and flew at the Clown with the sound of crunching glass and and undeniable rage. The Clown only had a second to react, to step back, stumble, the blade slicing through an entire section of wall where he had once been, and then he was being pushed back again and again. Rin’s eyes were murder, her hair thrashing in some unseen force, and finally, she struck the Clown, and was thrown from the home. Out. Rin disappeared after him for a moment, and you hissed, trying to stand up to find her.

A blink. At the sound of your pain, Rin reappeared. You blinked owlishly, surprised, and you watched as the anger melted off her face, replaced by sorrow. You glanced at the window, but, the Clown was gone, and you knew he wouldn’t be coming back, so you tried to smile reassuringly, but you were too rattled. Rin gently extended her hand to take yours, and then held it, examining the wounds. When she looked back to you, there was something in her eyes. This time, your smile was genuine. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, and Rin carefully cupped your cheek. The cicadas chirped gently in the night. It was okay now, you were safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the entire outline for the Hag written out, and then I just couldn't resist writing Rin's. Her story is so sad! I'd kill for a fixit fic with reader, where they ask her to stay with them after she finishes work, instead of going home. That way her dad can't get her


	9. The Hag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This will be your Ruin.

Running had always come naturally to you. You sprinted as fast as you could, heedless of the burning of your lungs, the way your eyes prickled slightly from the wind buffeting them, the muscles in your side straining and pushing blood through your clammy fingers. The smells of the forest and the trees were eventually replaced by something different, muddled, almost cloyingly rich and earthy. Plants decaying, water sloshing, gas that listed hazily through the air. It was a smell that was familiar to you, and in any other time, it might be associated with relief: the smell of a swamp. And, by extension, of Lisa. 

“Lisa,” you managed to croak out, past ragged breaths that escaped your throat. Your hands gripped a nearby oak tree, as you leaned against it, sucking in air, your lungs both grateful and vengeful in tandem. The sounds of laughter bounced around the fog, and a part of you wanted to cry in frustration, but all you could do was remind yourself that you’d find Lisa soon, and then, you’d be safe. But the Clown was still behind you, still laughing, and however distant that was, it wouldn’t stay that way for long. Instead, you squeezed your eyes shut once, before snapping them open, and pressing off from the tree in a sudden burst of sprint. 

The ground underneath you was slimy, and each step sank marginally into the wet soil, the mud slowly caking around your legs, doubtlessly mixing with the scratches and cuts you’d already received. If you’d had more time, you would try and cover your tracks, but… no, you couldn’t. You’d be able to lose him in the swamp. And then you’d find Lisa. 

You suddenly skidded to a stop, your shoes digging into the ground, as the hill came into view. Along the side, there was the well-loved ledges that you’d carefully hop down, to get safely to the bottom. But now, there was no opportunity for that. Instead, with one hand still gripping your side, you sucked in a steadying breath, and tilted your stance so you could slowly slide down the hillside. Your other hand was dug into the mud to at least try and steady yourself, and it worked, bringing the ground into view, until you jumped up and off, landing. A quick glance behind yourself revealed nothing, but maybe that glint was a smile, or a bottle prepared to be thrown, so you didn’t wait to try and confirm or deny what you saw. You just ran. 

“Lisa!” you tried again, as you pushed through the rest of the trees and brambles, the vines that hung lazily in the air. In the distance, a few crows murmured, but nothing more, nothing else. Lisa wasn’t here right now, or she couldn’t hear you, which meant you had to try and hide. You bounded out of the treeline, taking in a deep gulp of air, that smell of swamp that seemed to fortify you, before you lowered yourself down to a crouch and slowly made your way over to the stalks of cattails. A few of them were gently pushed aside, as you took a position in the center, letting them hide you and blend you in- not that it would be hard, with the mud that caked you still, and the shadows that clung to you.

Minutes passed. Maybe more, or maybe less, as you waited. In the distance, the sound of crows being disturbed, before a large figure broke through the brush, roughly shoving plants out of his path as he huffed; the Clown was here. And, despite whatever difficulties he had faced on his way, he didn’t look any different, that same grin still plastered on his face, those same dark eyes glittering. He seemed to sniff at the air, before coughing, and beginning to look around, his footsteps heavy in the mud, hunched over- as if finding you would be easy. 

For however long, the Clown searched, trying in vain to pick you out of the brush, growing more and more frustrated with each passing minute, before eventually, he gave up. He simply walked off into the swamp, to search for you somewhere else. But. But you knew, that didn’t mean he had _given up_. He’d be back, to try again, because he wanted to see you dead and suffer, and he had the patience to try. You had to try and find a better place to hide. Slowly, you stood up from the cattails, just barely peeking your head out from their tops, as you cautiously looked around. Nothing. For now. Your eyes scanned the horizon, until they landed heavily on the decaying wooden structure only a little way to your left. 

“No,” you hissed, to yourself, or maybe to the sky, as you glared. You knew that place. You knew the history, that Lisa had conveyed to you, how she had been held there for months and…

You shivered. But did you have any other choice? You couldn’t stay in the brush, and you couldn’t run back into the forest. Hiding in there was your only option, hiding and waiting for Lisa to find you. With light footsteps, you began to make your way over to the stilted structure, with its shades of greys and brown, water sloshing imperceptibly underfoot. Quiet, you willed yourself, and so you were; the only sign that you’d even moved towards the building being the buzz of insects. 

And… the sudden, startled burst of crows, up into the sky.

Your eyes flew open wide, your breath hitching in your throat, your skin freezing and prickling. And, in the distance, the sound of surprised laughter: the Clown was coming. 

Your slow pace was replaced by rapid fear, your throat constricting, your muscles tensing and propelling you forward. The ground beneath you was suddenly too slow, as you sprinted to the building, running as hard as you could, despite the pain that stung you. Slam, as your hands landed on the wood, of that grim pantry, and your heart stopped for a moment as you realized, that-

“Why is this window boarded up?” you cried, sparing only half a second to try and break through it, before taking off in the other direction, your actions becoming increasingly fueled by desperation. The crows about were a cacophony, might as well have been a siren, drawing the Clown to you, and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears as he came closer- closer and closer. You didn’t look behind yourself, because you were afraid that you’d be right, and he’d be right behind you.

Maybe you should’ve been more cautious about going into what was basically a waterlogged tomb, but you couldn’t, so you didn’t, and the instant you saw that open doorway, you dove for it. Instantly, darkness surronded you, almost suffocating, and the air here was… deadly. It was almost musty, and now it was definitely cloying in the worst way, the way of a dead body and rot. Your hand flew up to cover your mouth and nose, while your eyes darted around for another exit. When you couldn’t see one, you turned around, hoping you could try and go back the way you’d come, trick the Clown.

But it’s hard to trick someone when they’ve been standing right behind you.

“Wh-” you startled, and then you didn’t even get to finish the sentence, before the Clown reached out to grab you- and so you screamed, falling backwards, landing heavy in the wet ground.

The Clown stepped forward. Menacing, slowly, face twisted in that same grim smile. He was caked in sweat, and blood, and mud, and whatever else he had, those gruesome fingers still dangling on his keyring. You’d be added onto that next. You backpedaled, digging your hands into the mud, your breath coming in quick bursts, and you closed your eyes.

“Lisa!” as if that would make her appear.

But. As the Clown took another step, something interesting.

“Raagrh!” came a scream, distinctive, from the ground itself, as the apparition of Lisa shot upwards, her hands poised to attack. Your heart jumped into your throat, and the Clown even stumbled, to the side- triggering another phantasm trap. And another, and another. The Clown, surrounded on all sides by Lisa’s doubles, and he lashed out in surprise, hitting only air. The almost whisper-quiet sound of one of the phantoms being replaced by Lisa herself, as she stood behind the Clown. Then, she brought her arm up, and slashed. Forward, the Clown stumbled, only to be attacked again as she reappeared, and again. All the while, you watched in awe. 

A blink, and the Clown suddenly retreated, running back into the swamp and the mist, and after a moment, Lisa pursued. But not for long. Soon, you could hear her approaching again, her steps light, as she slowly made her way over to you. You could tell that her eyes were focused on your injuries, and you knew that later she’d make you a poultice to heal it. But, for now, you were tired. And maybe she was tired too. She leaned heavily on the wall, and you pulled yourself up off the ground, to leave that grim pantry with that dark history. To somewhere else, hopefully.

You extended your hand. She accepted. And, you smiled, and said with a weary but grateful voice, “thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! All done with this one. Hopefully you've all enjoyed this, just as much as I've enjoyed hating the Clown with every sentence.


End file.
